Millennium
by Jananda Sarne
Summary: Oneshot sequel to Deceptions and Disguises set 20 months later. Rated same since D&D essential prereading but only minor slash mentioned. Albus and Harry meet up at the Millennium Dome with royal cameos. Will Albus recognise the missing Crimson Lord?


Author's note

This takes place a bit over a year and a half after the end of Deceptions and Disguises. It will make very little sense if you haven't read that first. I promised I'd have it up by the end of the year - buy the fireworks I'm hearing I'm a bit late on that promise but I've done my best. Due to the rush it's only been checked for SPaG once - so I may make a few minor edits over the next couple of days.

Enjoy

JS

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"Good afternoon, my name's Dafydd Owens. I believe you have a room for me."

"Ah yes, David, you're our most elusive student, your first visit since your interview isn't it?"

"I suppose it is," replied Dafydd with a smile. "I've come up for the odd tutorial, but always just for the day."

"If you'll just sign in, I'll get your key. We've put you in Guest Room 2 – it's a bit small I'm afraid, but once the undergrads leave on Thursday we can move you into a larger ensuite."

"I'm sure it'll be just fine; I doubt I'll be here beyond Thursday anyway."

"I have you booked in until the end of the year."

"No, just the week I think," said Dafydd frowning slightly, "unless things have changed."

"Well, let us know as soon as you can. If you'll hang on a moment Jimmy's just finishing his photocopying and he'll show you round college."

David shouldered his bag and left the office hatch to sit on the window seat and wait for his guide. The winter rain drenching the students and cobbled street outside was nothing unusual, but being kept dry by a pane of glass between himself and the elements was; you did not find many large sheets of glass in the Amazonian rainforest. Rain itself was plentiful.

Dafydd was startled out of his musing by footsteps on the stone floor of the foyer. He looked up to see a smartly dressed young man of uncertain age with a stack of papers under his arm.

"Jimmy Aldous, Assistant Organ Scholar," said the man extending him hand (the photocopies were neatly tucked under his left arm for this purpose).

"Dafydd Owens," replied Dafydd without adornment.

"Shall we?"

Jimmy led Dafydd past the side door to the college office and along the corridor. Guest Room 2 turned out to be on the first floor, halfway towards the back of the main college building. Jimmy took Dafydd straight there and then once he had dropped off his luggage Jimmy gave him the grand tour of the main building including the chapel (and organ), the library and the computer room. They finished up at the dinning hall as a queue was beginning to form. Jimmy, to Dafydd's surprise, turned out to be a first year undergraduate, notwithstanding his tweed suit. It came as no surprise, however, that he was studying music. It appeared that his main duties as an organ scholar were in the running of the St Chad's Chapel Choir (who sang to organ accompaniment). Jimmy appeared most put out that Dafydd showed no inclination to join said organisation nor to attend the carol service they were leading the next day.

Dafydd was shepherded into supper along with Jimmy's musical entourage. Standing in a queue to be served by checked gingham uniformed dinner ladies reminded Dafydd of his primary school days. So did the food. Back then he had been grateful to school dinners for providing him with a source of sustenance that the Dursleys could not make him forfeit on a whim, at least until he was old enough to 'forget' his dinner money. St Chad's canteen food, despite being lauded as the best college food at the University, was not a patch on the Hogwarts house elves produce. Fortunately, it had little in common with the general fare in Azkaban either. Dafydd tucked in half heartedly; he still felt a bit queasy from his journey and pizza, chips, cake and custard would not have been his first choice. He saw Helen enter and she stopped by their table. To Dafydd's annoyance instead of rescuing him from the musical chauvinists she encouraged Jimmy and his cohorts to make up for Dafydd not having a fresher's week and to give him a taste of 'the Durham experience.' They obviously had no idea he was a postgraduate and not a fresher, though it was true that he had never been a fresher at any university.

"Ah David, you found us alright then?" was the cheery if pointless greeting that met a not so cheery and definitely blunted Dafydd at nine thirty the next morning as he swayed slightly in the doorway of the secretary's office in the Philosophy department on Old Elvet. At least with his current skin tone nobody would be able to see how green he felt, but Dafydd thought he might well give the game away despite that advantage were he to vomit into a corner (or worse all over his supervisor). The college bar crawl of the night before had been followed by a trip to Klute which, he had been informed, was a mandatory right of passage as a Durham student. It now felt very much like a mistake. He had thought it was not the best of plans while queuing to get into the club the night before. He had seen the queue and compared it with some estimates of the dimensions of the building. The sardine tin crowding he predicted had been spot on. Strangely though it had not made him that uncomfortable, nor had the 'meat market' clubbing atmosphere. A small voice at the back of Dafydd's mind pointed out that the lack of emotional reaction, given his history, was in itself a greater cause for concern, but he quickly quashed it.

"No problems," Dafydd assured Liz brightly. "The plaque on the door gave the department away. Is Helen in?"

"She is, and so's Prof Parasolis. I've booked one of the Riverside lecture theatres for your presentation this afternoon so you'll have the digital display system you asked for."

"Thanks, I was afraid I'd have to print out some acetates. They in Parasolis's office?" Liz gave an affirmative and Dafydd nodded farewell to her and continued up the stairs to the head of department's office. Parasolis was Helen's and his PhD supervisor. She had started the year before he had, but was studying part time while taking a few tutorials and lectures. Dafydd's thesis required a lot of observation work in Brazil and he spent little time in Durham. Helen acted as his administrative contact point for most of his visits and was very involved in his project. He thought she was trying to demonstrate her supervising abilities on him so that the Head of Department might be impressed enough to give her a full time post once she qualified. Dafydd wished her luck. Jobs in the field of medical history were hard to come by, unless you went into the ethics of genetic modification and related areas. Parasolis himself was a hard taskmaster. He had told Dafydd bluntly at his interview that he did not think much of having a student forced upon him without an academic pedigree and that Dafydd would have to prove his worth. Today's report and presentation would be the deciding factor in whether Parasolis though that he had made good on his assertions of academic competence or not. Dafydd had jumped though every unfair hoop that Parasolis had insisted on and he hoped that finally the resentment would vanish and he could get on with the academic project in hand. Mind you that had not worked with Snape so was not holding his breath.

"Are you flying back straight away or staying for Christmas?" Helen asked as Dafydd connected his laptop to the presentation system for his lecture that afternoon.

"I'll head back tomorrow I expect," replied Dafydd, "assuming the Prof gives me leave to continue that is."

"He's impressed… he just won't show it because he thinks you'll push yourself harder if he's critical."

"How many people are we expecting?" asked Dafydd glancing up in slight alarm at the trickle of students through the doors which was increasing rather than tailing off.

"Well there'll be all of the Prof's medical historians – I told you he was impressed! – then those anthropologists interested in the indigenous peoples of South America, perhaps some sociologists and geographers, a smattering of historians and those people who attend all of these one off lectures,… and of course anyone who knows a bit about modern art and recognises your name, but we'll spot those quite easily since they'll be the ones with autograph books!"

"My adoring fan club!" said Dafydd with an exaggerated groan.

"Your obnoxious fan club, yes, but if it's any consolation I doubt there'll be that many, we don't have an art school here."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies."

Helen blinked at Dafydd's choice of a deity and the image of him dressed in flowing white robes sacrificing a chicken or similar in the middle of a Stonehenge flashed into her mind. She excused herself in the interests of allowing him to skim through is notes, and proceeded to crack up silently in a back row seat.

"Good afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen," Dafydd began having flicked the lights off and on to get everyone's attention. "My name is Dafydd Owens and for the next half an hour or so I will be talking about the Awan people of the Amazonian rainforest with whom I've been living for the past eighteen months. If this is not the topic you were expecting I suggest you leave now before I bore you rigid. I will leave time for questions at the end, but please feel free to interrupt as we go along. So to begin…" Dafydd dimmed the lights and started his presentation.

"So you keep your secret identity," Helen teased Dafydd in mock disgust as they walked back from Elvet Riverside after his presentation. "Durham students are philistines; they have no culture."

"You said yourself we have no art school here," said Dafydd placidly. "And I don't go around introducing myself as 'the Dafydd Owens' so maybe they're just polite and don't think I'd like being constantly compared with my famous namesake."

"Oh come on… you used some of your paintings as illustrations… how oblivious can they be."

"Well they can be as oblivious as they like as far as I'm concerned. I'm just Dafydd Owens, no prefixes or suffixes need apply."

"So you're not going to be Dr Owens when you qualify? You must be the only PhD student not already doodling Dr on his letters."

"Well," replied Dafydd grinning, "I might have to make an exception for that one… after all I'll have earned it, particularly if the Prof has anything to do with it."

"You have many unearned titles then?"

"Of course," Dafydd deadpanned. "I am Sir Dafydd Owens, Knight of the Order of the Britannic Shield, Lord Crimson, Chief Zia of the Welsh March, Master of Lion's Den, Dragonmaster (in Absentia), honorary Mugwum…"

Helen punched him lightly on the arm. Dafydd stifled a wince; that would bruise. "You almost had me for a moment. Lions I can cope with, but dragons? That gives it away a bit don't you think?"

"I'll be sure to leave out the dragons next time," said Dafydd seriously.

"You do that."

Dafydd's teasing retort was interrupted by the ringing of his mobile. He withdrew the handset from his pocket and answered it with an apologetic glance at Helen. She withdrew slightly to allow him some privacy but his clear voice carried well and she was drawn in to the one sided conversation and tried to work out what was going on. It didn't sound like a very welcome conversation.

"Dafydd… Oh hi Will, what's up?" Dafydd looked decidedly annoyed. "Will, how on Earth can I attend? She knows I want nothing more to do with that life – she agreed to give me my freedom." He turned serious. "You're expecting trouble? You've got Hapstaff." His eyes gained a faraway look as if remembering something horrible, "but you can't" he protested. "… He'd be crucified… and Will, I mean that literally… Neither do I; I just can't do it. If nothing else I doubt I could face Isaac with my husband's blood on my hands… That bad?" Dafydd was smiling slightly now. Helen was pleased it wasn't all bad news. "Duties of state… Sounds like a plan," agreed Dafydd resignedly. "You confide in her about Isaac and I'll sort out the evening's 'entertainment!' Thanks Will, looks like I'll be seeing you on the 31st then."

"Bad news?" asked Helen solicitously.

"Not at all," Dafydd assured her giving himself a mental shake. "So do you have any plans for New Year?"

"So where is this unsuspecting party?" Helen asked as Dafydd guided her towards the waiting car outside Kings Cross Station. He seemed quite keen to get out of the station as soon as was humanly possible. They had less than twenty four hours to rehearse the detail of their plan.

"In what I believe is known as 'that overpriced monstrosity' up in Greenwich," replied Dafydd.

"The Millennium Dome?" asked Helen in shock. "You're kidding! You were invited to the millennium party at the Millennium Dome and you didn't want to go?"

"Big gatherings aren't really my thing, and I had wanted to spend the holidays with Isaac. Besides the presence of the ex is a big turn off."

"I don't get you. Nothing seems to faze you. I expect I could tell you that I'm a vampire and you would just ask me whether the blood's type affects its flavour."

"No I wouldn't," defended Dafydd grinning wickedly, "I'd ask you how managed to keep your unusual eye colour after your turning." Helen punched him in playful exasperation and Dafydd resigned himself to new bruises. A fortnight back in Brazil had healed him of his previous ones.

"Sir Dafydd Owens and Miss Helen Grant," announced the master of ceremonies as they entered the pre midnight reception. Helen had been surprised when he suggested that they walk the two miles to the party but realised the wisdom of this method when the reports began coming in of various dignitaries standing in the less than ideal weather at various railway stations on the way to Greenwich.

"You were telling a partial truth then, Sir Dafydd," Helen murmured to him as they moved into the chilly oversized marquee.

"Oh but I am the Master of Lions' Den," he replied. His tone was playful but his heart was heavy.

"That was Daniel!" retorted Helen scornfully. A steward came over with a tray of drinks and handed a card to Dafydd. He read it hurriedly, pocketed it and then turned brightly to Helen and indicated that plan B would be required after all. Helen had caught sight of the name on the card and wondered exactly how many of the statements she had taken as teasing lies were in fact the truth. HRH Prince William of Wales appeared to be part of the evening's 'entertainment' and she recalled that it had been a 'Will' that Dafydd had spoken with on the 'phone. Could Dafydd be on nickname terms with the second in line to the throne? Might she get to meet said prince? She wondered all the more what had been written on the reverse of the card.

The card had read simply: "mixed reception, good luck," which wouldn't have meant much to Helen at all.

Helen was thoroughly enjoying herself that evening. She was a bit disappointed that plan B was in play since she was unlikely to get to stay for the midnight celebrations, but it would still be wonderful to be able to say she had been here on this night. She had a sneaking suspicious her presence would be publicised to the whole country in the next day's papers; that might help people remember her name. What a pity! She had originally agreed to come along thinking that she would be Dafydd's date, but he had explained that he was already married and the awkward position the party was putting him in with his ex wife's family being present and hunting for him. She had readily agreed to help with his disguise. He had sketched out for her the faces of some of the people they had to particularly watch out for and perform to. One of them, with the easily recognisable beard whom Dafydd had said would be the worst of the lot, was getting steadily nearer as time wore on.

It appeared at first that he was just mingling randomly, but Helen knew a lot about statistics and if that was true random behaviour she would eat his beard, metal clasp and all. It would appear that Longbeard (Dafydd had not told her their names so that she could not accidentally let them slip) was no mathematician. Dafydd indicated that he had noticed Longbeard too. He shot a questioning glance towards her and Helen patted his hand reassuringly. She was ready for the performance. Several pairs of eyes in different parts of the tent watched the meeting from their carefully sort out vantage points with considerable interest.

"Let me get you a top up, Helen," Dafydd offered.

"Thank you, Dafydd," responded Helen as naturally as she could and she handed him her glass. When Dafydd returned a few minutes later Helen was, as they had predicted, in conversation with Albus Dumbledore.

"Dafydd, may I introduce Professor Dumbledore?" asked Helen. Dafydd appeared a bit taken aback at the old man's presence and paused a moment before recollecting himself and addressing Longbeard.

"Delighted to meet you Professor," he said politely gripping the two drinks in a slightly awkward manner. "Would you happen to be a fellow historian?" The unspoken message was clear; I am not interested in discussing my art or meeting its admirers. He did not want the wizarding world looking too closely at that aspect of his new life.

"My field is mythology; themes of good and evil, dark versus light and that sort of thing," replied Longbeard genially. "I suppose that doesn't quite count among real historians does it?"

Dafydd looked unsure as to what to say and Helen saw Longbeard more than ready to steer the conversation and so pressed ahead quickly. "Dafydd, is that my drink?" He was still holding both glasses tightly.

"No… I mean yes, but … um," Dafydd spluttered reluctantly turning towards her and away from the wizard interloper. "Perhaps I should hang on to it for a while…"

"Oh don't be silly Daf," Helen beamed at him. Dafydd shot an apologetic look at Longbeard and handed over the drink. As Helen took it there was a clinking sound. "I think you've caught someone's earring in here," she said to everyone's eyes an innocent. "I'll just…" she poked into the liquid with her finger and withdrew not an earring but an engagement ring."

Albus, feeling decidedly like a gooseberry, sort around for a face saving exit. He had not meant to barge in on a proposal and was clearly barking up the wrong tree. He settled for a grandfatherly aside to Dafydd in praise of his romantic method of proposal.

"A bit more like desperation actually sir," Dafydd said truthfully. "I needed to do it before the leap-century began or I'd not feel safe!" The second part was not so truthful but Helen's reaction should account for any lie Longbeard might detect. Dafydd hoped that the truthful emotions of the first statement would mask his deceit as he felt his former headmaster gently probing his mind.

"Dafydd, I…" Helen's distressed tone interrupted the men exactly on cue. "I don't know what to say… I'm flattered of course… but I really can't… I don't…" The exchange had drawn quite a crowd and the pair played out the scene. Will watched with satisfaction as Albus withdrew almost unnoticed and moved off to make his report to the magical contingent. Will was inwardly grinning. Dafydd knew how to act and his date had performed well too. It was a pity she wouldn't be staying for the rest of the party after all the work she had put in to prevent a disruptive unmasking. Unless… perhaps a royal request might persuade her?

Dafydd left the Dome with the sympathy of those gathered there; he could hardly stay after such a rejection, and was back in Brazil in under a quarter of an hour from his abortive proposal. He had not had a chance to say anything further to Helen, but she seemed friendly enough underneath the performance. He had the distinct impression that she would be meeting Will at some point if that young man's expression was anything to go by and surely that would make up for any discomfort he had caused?

Dafydd picked his way carefully through the village. Dusk had fallen and for a people who lived that close to nature the waking day mirrored the terrestrial one. Everyone was asleep. He transfigured his suit back into his usual forest attire and took a moment to stare at the canopy of leaves above him. He felt giddy. He felt free. He had come face to face with his past, with the almost omniscient Albus Dumbledore no less, and had not been recognised and forced to return. That life was now truly behind him.

Dafydd entered his hut and gazed down at Isaac's sleeping form. He was free and now, this was his home. It had been Isaac's home since birth, spiritually if not geographically given their nomadic lifestyle, and now if was Dafydd's too. He had swapped the umbrellas of the rainy isles for the trees of the forest of rain. A solitary tear flowed down his left cheek and plopped onto his left hand where his wedding ring would have been had he not chopped that finger off when he could not remove it any other way. The ring still forced itself into his company and he had to keep it on his person, but at least his hands were his own. They were his own no matter what his tears thought. They were. Despite Dafydd's protestations of happiness there was still a part of Dafydd, deeply buried that was profoundly miserable, and even if he would not admit to it, he was well aware of it.

The End

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The story will continue... watch this space. The full novel length sequel to D & D is in progress. 

JS


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